


can we pretend?

by ViolaWay



Category: Little Mix (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Homeless, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Homelessness, Jade is shy, Nervousness, Perrie is insightful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-10
Updated: 2013-10-10
Packaged: 2017-12-29 00:34:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/998751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViolaWay/pseuds/ViolaWay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jade is left to wonder why she's obsessing over the homeless girl outside her apartment building.</p><p>Every day, Jade passes her on her way to work. She's started a collection of pennies, ranging from one pence to two pounds, and she's taken to dropping a few into the upturned black fedora each day. She gets a winning smile from the girl each time, and she pretends it's just for her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	can we pretend?

The thing that strikes Jade about her is that she's always smiling. Her cheeks are hollow and her blonde hair is lank, but still she smiles.

 

And the other thing Jade notices is how beautiful this girl is. Her bright blue eyes sparkle, and she seems full of energy even when Jade can see the striking dark circles under her eyes.

 

Then Jade is left to wonder why she's obsessing over the homeless girl outside her apartment building.

 

Every day, Jade passes her on her way to work. She's started a collection of pennies, ranging from one pence to two pounds, and she's taken to dropping a few into the upturned black fedora each day. She gets a winning smile from the girl each time, and she pretends it's just for her. She often thinks of talking to the girl, of asking what happened, why she's forced to sing unaccompanied in the hopes of earning some money. She thinks of complimenting this girl's voice—how it soars through the crowd: melodic and strong. She thinks about it a lot.

 

Two weeks after the arrival of the homeless singer, a small sign goes up next to her.

 

"PERRIE EDWARDS- Leave song suggestions here!"

 

The piece of paper is flimsy, and it's coloured in with the kinds of children's felt-tips that run out of ink after two uses. The lettering is faint, and Jade thinks that it contrasts with how vibrant this girl truly is. There’s obviously been an attempt to make the words stand out: each one is a different colour, outlined in black and filled in meticulously.

 

Perrie. It's a fitting name—quirky and cute, just like its owner. Jade takes a glittery pen from her bag and obediently scribbles down the first song that pops into her head.

 

"Airplanes- Hayley Williams. You can do the rap if you want to! :D"

 

When she sits back on her heels, shoving the gel-pen back into the front pocket of her backpack, Perrie's eyes are on her, wide and innocently curious.

 

"I love that song," she comments quietly, as if words too loud will scare Jade off.

 

As it is, Jade nods jerkily and scampers away before another word can be spoken. She runs away because she's fascinated and terrified by this mysterious, too-trusting girl who stays in the same spot every day, and who Jade always has a spare coin for.

 

She goes to work that day, straps on an apron and shovels chips for strangers, tries to smile but is perpetually nervous, terrified of conversing with them. Even taking their orders seems like a monumental task. Today, her thoughts are consumed by full lips singing entrancing tunes. She messes up the simplest job in the universe, and she sarcastically congratulates herself inside her head.

 

Her shift ends, and maybe she takes a slight detour so that she can go to a little corner shop near her block of flats, to get change for the five pound note that's in her pocket. No one has to know. Least of all Perrie.

 

She buys a loaf of bread that's already two days out of date, and some milk because there never seems to be any in the flat. She drinks too much milky tea, eats too much cereal. She eats Shreddies for dinner; her wages don't go very far. She's spending too much on the singer at the end of her street.

 

With the plastic bag swinging and bashing her thigh every few steps, she walks the rest of the way with change jangling in her pocket. It's a waste of hard-earned money. She tells herself this, but she doesn't believe it.

 

When she reaches the gravel pathway bordered by concrete walls, defaced by years of graffiti, she takes a deep breath. Stupid, really. To be nervous about giving money to a charity case in the East London estates. But she is—and she can't seem to think of Perrie as a charity case. She shoves a sweaty palm into her pocket and caresses the money inside as if to check that it's still there. It is, and Jade holds it so tightly that the imprints of the coins will be visible long after she lets go. She berates herself for her anxiety and strides briskly forward. Her battered converse trainers strike the pavement with every step: re-paving the route she's taken every day for two years. She can practically remember where to place her feet, to part the dust in the exact same way as she's done a hundred times before. For an instant, her life seems so pointless, revolving around nothing, floating in space. What's the point?

 

She walks the same road, every day, and nothing ever changes.

 

Nothing changes, nothing but an insignificant girl who sits at the side against the wall, on a pink sleeping bag that's faded and wrecked by the incessant rain that plagues the London skyline. Jade would make it stop raining, if she could, just to give this optimistic, wonderful woman a shred of hope in a hopeless life.

 

She only has a pitiful amount of change, though.

 

Jade has never had an abundance of money. She's never been 'well-off', but her mum bought her a phone for Christmas when she was sixteen—she still has the same one now—and her dad took her out shopping for nice clothes, ones that are faded and ripped now, but were once bright and fashionable—even if they were scavenged from the half price sales. Then her mum left. That's what they call it, in Jade's family, when someone dies. She wishes they could call it what it is. Even at the funeral... She remembers her dad's tearful speech.

 

"Although she has...left us, she lives on in our hearts—"

 

But he broke off, then; the tears overwhelmed him. The sobbing was ugly; Jade had rushed up to the stage, had pulled him away helplessly.

 

He was depressed. Still is, for all Jade knows. It was the summer before she was supposed to go to university, and she was a ghost. She had her mother's eyes, and her dad couldn't stand to look at her. The already vague promises of funding university fees petered out as he spoke to her less and less...

 

She didn't want to leave him. She still misses him, now. But she had needed support and he had been a shell. A zombie, making his way through life with a sort of emptiness that chilled her to her core.

 

She's alone, now, and so is he. She hasn't spoken to him in two years, and he’s made no attempt to contact her. Maybe she should go home. Funny how she still thinks of it as home, even though she might not recognize it. What if it's been sold? If she can never go back...

 

No, it doesn't matter. Memories—ghosts: that's what they are—fester in the walls, rotting and giving off an almighty smell. They decay there, and they take the inhabitants with them. Until everything in the place is dead. It will never be the lively, joyful house she once loved. Her mother's perfume will never smell as sweet.

 

She suppresses the memories as best she can, like she always does, and it's with a single minded determination that she manages to take the necessary steps over to where she knows Perrie will be.

 

Perrie must have seen her first, though, because...

 

_"...Airplanes in the night sky like shooting stars...I could really use a wish right now, wish right now…”_

 

Whether she's on the first chorus or not would unclear if it weren’t for the exceptionally bright (gorgeous) smile that's trained directly on Jade as she sings the song that Jade suggested.

 

Jade realizes that this is just for her.

 

It's a rush of warmth that culminates in the pit of her stomach, glowing and shining like Perrie's eyes. And if she had to visualize this- this happiness, that's what it would be. The molten aquamarine of Perrie's eyes, like a pool of joy that seems inexplicable given the circumstances, but it exists in ethereal beauty, making its home in Jade's heart.

 

Being cared about, being remembered, she hasn't felt like this in far too long. No friends, no comfort of family. But this girl remembered her, is smiling at her like she's the only thing that matters. And Jade finds herself smiling back.

 

"Are you gonna do the rap?" she laughs, making her way over to the makeshift camp.

 

Perrie nods in response before launching into the verse. And it is the rap, but she's changed it. Now, where there was a bass drum beat and fast spoken words, there's Perrie's melodic tones changing the structure of the song to suit herself.

 

It's not improvisation; it's obvious that preparation was required to so perfectly deliver this tune, where once there was none. Jade feels her eyes widen, feels her spirits soar. Perrie did this for _her_. It’s still not quite sinking in. She’s used to fading into the background, to letting the world go by without her. She’s rarely had anyone pay attention to her, let alone do anything to _impress_ her.

 

" _So when your plans unravel and they say: 'What would you wish for if you had one chance?_ '"

 

What would Jade wish for? Should she wish for her mum back, or would that be selfish? Maybe she could ask for an end to poverty, so that people like Perrie would always have a home. Or an end to injustice? That, surely, would fulfill both of her desires. Her mother's death hadn't been just, after all.

 

She has a brief thought that she might wish for Perrie. That she might wish for those soft lips on hers, for that smile to greet her each morning when her eyes fluttered open. Another selfish wish. But strangely desirable even for its impracticality. Wasn't that one of the first rules of wishing? That it's impossible to make someone fall in love with you.

 

Then again, wishing itself is impossible. Wishes don't come true, and thinking in circles doesn't make them.

 

Jade remains stationary for the entire song, half lost in thought, half fixated on Perrie's rendition of the familiar tune. It’s impossible to continue her melancholy train of thought when Perrie looks so joyful, despite the obvious hopelessness of her position.

 

When she finishes, Jade claps as hard as if she wasn't the only one watching. It's worth it, for the answering smile she receives.

 

"That was amazing." Jade can't believe that she's finally worked up the courage to say something, but she has. First time she's spoken to a stranger outside of work in almost a year. Is her life really that sad?

 

"Thanks," is the heartfelt reply. "I worked on it all day. So, what's your name?"

 

For an instant, Jade considers bolting. But that's pointless. She'll see Perrie tomorrow, and the day after that. She can't run away forever.

 

"Jade," she answers, reluctantly. "And I know your name."

 

"Yes, you do. You've been very kind to me. Do you really like my voice that much?"

 

Jade fishes in her pocket and draws out the money silently, bending to place it reverently in the hat. She's not quite sure what to say. Yes, she loves Perrie's voice, but she loves the light in her eyes more. She loves how this girl hasn't given up.

 

What's the right thing to say?

 

"Your voice is...it's beautiful," she manages shyly. She feels stupid. Someone like her must fade into the background in the presence of someone like Perrie. She’s not special, not in comparison to such radiance.

 

But Perrie looks at her with something akin to awe. Flattering, but confusing. Why?

 

"No one's ever said that to me before," Perrie confesses, and Jade can't quite believe that. Or maybe she can; it just hasn't quite sunk in yet. Surely _someone_ must have? Of everyone out there, surely Perrie is the one who deserves it. Constant praise, incessant compliments. Jade would give her that. If...

 

If what? If Perrie was hers to compliment? That doesn't seem fair. Maybe she should do it anyway? Although...what if it sounds presumptuous? What if it comes out wrong? Jade wishes she wasn't so shy, so consistent in second guessing even the most innocent of notions. Second guessing everything that has the potential to come out of her mouth.

 

"I-I have to go," she mumbles. Crippling, her nervousness. No friends. She hasn't ever been in a relationship with soft touches and gentle kisses. She snogged a girl in the bathroom at her school, once. They made out for twenty minutes, almost the entire lunch-break, until Taylor's friends came in. Jade was flushed, her hair was messed up, her eyes were too bright...lips swollen. Silent delight, that Taylor (the most popular girl in school) wanted _her_. Then, her friends. Connection broken, and Taylor's eyes clouded over. Denial.

 

"Get off me!" she'd shrieked. "Freak."

 

That was the first time Jade had gotten slapped. The violent red mark had stung for days afterwards. Or maybe that was her imagination.

 

After that, every time she saw Taylor, tears sprung to her eyes. She was pathetic.

 

And through the distortion of her own memories, the lies became true. Surely Taylor hadn't reciprocated. Jade had forced herself on the poor girl, hadn't she? Twenty minutes.

 

She hadn't told anyone about it, but the story was maliciously spread throughout the school, and she was transformed from the quiet girl in the back of the classroom to a pariah. She had hated her experience of secondary school. Bad grades, and not even a solitary friend to share the disappointment with.

 

Now, she pushes open the door of her flat and looks around. Really looks, for the first time in ages. She hasn't painted the walls. They're the same dirty white colour that they were to start with. The sofa-bed is still open; she never bothers to put it back, these days. The sheets are strewn across the floor; she never makes the bed. No one's going to see it. There are only three rooms: the main one, the kitchen and a bathroom. She can't afford a TV, so there's a stack of books where one should be. There's not much food in the kitchen, but dirty dishes are piling up in the sink. A splash of hair-dye stains the white counter: bright purple. Jade looks in the mirror that hangs over the books—her roots are coming through. Spending money on hair-dye seems obnoxious when she has so little to spend on anything else.

 

It's depressing.

 

She goes to bed that night with hair still wet from her brief (cold—no hot water) shower. It will be a mess in the morning. She doesn't care.

 

And she dreams of blue eyes and pretty smiles.

 

The next morning, her hair is—predictably—a mess. She didn't even brush it last night; it's wild and curly and she can't even summon the energy to fix it. She ties her hair back in a ponytail and that's the most effort it's getting out of her.

 

She continues with her morning routine, brushing her teeth and making some tea. Check her phone: three missed calls. Who from?

 

'Dad.'

 

Her breath stops. She won't—she can't call him back. Not yet. She's not ready. She never will be. This is his fault. But he's trying, isn't he? Extending an olive branch, maybe?

 

A few calls, that's nothing. Not evidence that he wants anything to do with her. Wishful thinking, she's famous for it.

 

Jade doesn't know what to do.

 

She's sick of hiding, but she remembers the empty, haunted look in her father's eyes. Worse, to her, than the scariest horror movie. She can't go back to that.

 

But what if he's changed?

 

She leaves the flat early in a fit of anxious energy- she stumbles out of the flat in a daze.

 

She forgets to look for Perrie, but when she reaches the flat expanse of wall, she sees her. Still asleep. Well, it's early; she'd have no reason not to be. Six am, most people are asleep. Her grimy blonde hair is strewn across what was once a pillow, but is now a tattered brown shell. She looks like an angel, Jade thinks. An angel dragged down from heaven and forced to reside in this unforgiving world.

 

She can't help but pause to look at the halo of hair, the streak of colour against the concrete wall. She thinks it's a fair representation: Perrie is like that. She's the colour in a dreary world; she's the loveliness against a startling boring background.

 

Jade's not quite conscious of the time passing; she stands there in a daze until her shadow is shorter, and a glance at her watch tells her half an hour has passed. And Perrie is waking up.

 

It wouldn't be obvious to anyone not looking so closely, but Jade catalogues the way her eyelids flutter, the way her body stretches out- feline-like- and she knows that she has to leave, now. Or risk looking like a complete creep. Which...she's not. She's never watched someone sleep before, but Perrie's just _there_ , and it's hard to resist the temptation to stare.

 

Still. She needs to get away, before...

 

Oh. Jade is momentarily distracted by the way Perrie's eyes flicker open, bleary with sleep. She's almost fully alert now; there's no point in Jade running away, not really. And maybe...maybe she wants to stay. Best to avert her eyes, though. Sit down, look less threatening. Try to ignore the resilient voice in the back of her head going ‘Stalker!’

 

She does. She sits beside Perrie, grabs a book out of her bag, tries to make it look like she's randomly settled there, on the sparse and uncomfortable grass (weeds) that straggle across the pavement from underneath the wall. She's not fooling anyone.

 

"Morning..." Perrie's voice is groggy and slurred, but the sentiment is obviously directed at Jade.

 

"Um," Jade replies. "Sorry."

 

"'Bout what? Nice to wake up with company," Perrie responds, smiling. "Why are you up so early, though? Normally you pass by at about eight... Or is my watch wrong? It's probably broken by now." She's rambling; it's cute. Propped up on her elbows, still half-asleep. Jade adores this side of her, even though she feels like it's not hers to observe.

 

"No, you're right," she says. "I woke up early this morning, and I- I couldn't stay inside."

 

"Why not?" The question is, surprisingly, not invasive.

 

"I felt trapped. There was no air in there..." That's not an explanation at all, Jade realizes. "Uh, my dad called. I didn't pick up, I..."

 

"I'm guessing he hasn't called in a while?" Again: non-judgmental, just curious. This is the way people should converse, Jade thinks. No ulterior motives. Perrie is so divergent by normal social standards that she’s actually easier to talk to—for Jade, at least—than most people.

 

"No, not since I moved out. A couple of years back."

 

"I'm not trying to guilt-trip you or anything," Perrie responds cautiously, "but if my dad called me, I'd pick up in an instant."

 

"Why?" And there Jade is, feeling the same way. She wants to know all of Perrie's secrets, but not unless the girl wants to tell them. Curiosity. Innocent curiosity. It's strange—and rare—but Jade likes it. Loves it, in fact.

 

"He threw me out. If he called me, I'd know that he'd finally forgiven me. That he'd changed his mind."

 

"If my dad had thrown me out, I'd never forgive him," Jade informs her companion. What she means is: 'I'll never forgive your dad for pushing you into this. No one deserves this life. Least of all you.'

 

"Maybe. But I still love him, despite...everything. His ignorance wasn't his fault."

 

"I can understand that, I suppose," Jade nods. "My dad as good as forced me into leaving. He didn't mean to, though. It just ended up being his fault."

 

"In what way?"

 

"My mum died." It shouldn't be this hard to say. Not after all this time. "He closed off, became distant. I couldn't stand it."

 

"My dad met my girlfriend."

 

And that shouldn't make Jade's spirits soar, it shouldn't. But it does. She feels torn between being inexplicably happy that this, at least, is confirmation that Perrie isn’t straight, and that…maybe Jade has a chance. (Shit, she feels pathetic.)

 

"Who was she?"

 

"Lovely girl. Leigh-Anne... We were friends at first. He'd already met her a few times, and we dated secretly for a while. It was no big deal..." Perrie trails off, nostalgia clouding her features. Jade doesn't want to interrupt the barrage of memories, but she feels like she needs to know...

 

"What happened, then?" Her questioning has lost its innocence; there's a purpose behind her inquiries. She feels an unquantifiable guilt, but Perrie doesn't seem to mind.

 

"We broke up, a few months ago now," Perrie explains. "Tried to continue the friendship, you know how that is?"

 

Jade doesn't. "I've never actually, well- I've never had...anyone. Friend or not."

 

"Huh. It doesn't matter, I guess. Anyway, things were pretty awkward for a while, so I invited her over to my house. We needed to talk it out," Perrie sighs. "We didn't end up doing much talking, if you catch my drift. My dad walked in."

 

"That was it?"

 

"Well, not quite. I suppose it would've been better if I'd still had my bra on... He went through my computer history, looked under my bed, all that jazz." A pause, and then, absurdly, a laugh. "Always wipe your history. Especially of lesbian porn. And always hide vibrators somewhere your parents are guaranteed to _never_ find them. God, it was embarrassing."

 

"They just chucked you out? Over that?" Jade demands.

 

"Don't you understand? I was meant to be their pure, virginal girl. As it turned out, I'd had sex in almost every room of their precious house. Right under the cross in the living room. I was kind of…experimenting, back then. I was curious. There’d been boys, girls—in retrospect, I don’t know how I expected to keep my parents in the dark for very long."

 

Jade can see where the confusion came from, to be honest. She’s having trouble wrapping her mind around a version of Perrie that isn't as innocent as a baby. Still, that’s no excuse to throw a girl onto the streets.

 

"I'm sorry." What a woefully inadequate response, Jade thinks—but she can't work out what else to say. Perrie just smiles sadly and nods.

 

"If I were you, I'd call your dad." But that’s the thing about Perrie: it’s not like she’s saying that Jade _should_ , necessarily. She’s just sharing her opinion: unbiased and utterly forgiving, even before the offence is committed. ‘ _I’d call your dad,’_ she suggests.

 

So Jade does.

 

She does it with Perrie right beside her, an encouraging smile on her face. Dialing the numbers with shaking fingers, trembling despite the warmth of the June morning. It'll probably start raining again soon, Jade thinks to herself, pressing the phone to her ear. There are still thick, grey clouds looming above, even as the sun shines weakly through.

 

"'ello?" Groggy with sleep, but she still knows that voice. It’s rough and scratchy, and her mind immediately flashes to childhood memories of crawling into her parents’ bed in the mornings, curling up with them there.

 

"Hello?" she replies timidly.

 

"Jade!" She’s wondering if she can forgive him, even as she tries to focus on his voice. That’s what this is about, isn’t it?

 

"Yeah, it's me."

 

When she hangs up, half an hour later, Perrie is still next to her. Smiling. A silent encouragement that kept Jade sane through the hardest conversation of her life.

 

Jade has never noticed her clothing before, too captivated by her face, but now she recognizes a faded slogan on the pink t-shirt: 'Love is Equal'. And a long, beaded skirt, with mis-matched flip-flops. It's quirky, unique: it's Perrie. Sometimes she wears a flower crown. Where does she get the flowers, when they're surrounded by weeds? Jade asks the question, if only to break the silence.

 

"Do you want me to show you?" Perrie answers.

 

They end up in a little park, sitting by a pond and picking daisies absent-mindedly. Perrie is instructing Jade on how to construct a flower crown, but Jade isn't listening. She's focusing on the lilt of Perrie's voice, but not the words. Perrie must notice, but she doesn't mention it. Maybe she senses that Jade needs some time to think.

 

They can hear the hushed whispers of a mother telling her child to stay away from them, they can hear the laughter of the youngsters who run around, wanting to jump into the pond but never building up the courage too. Perrie's barefoot already- she dips her feet into the water and lets them dangle there, soothed by the icy, stagnant water. Jade almost recoils in disgust at the thought of joining her in the action (the water looks unclean and full of slimy plants) but there's something about the freedom of the motion, of the blatant disregard for rules and the fulfillment of childish desires that compels Jade to do the same.

 

"So, you're going to visit your dad?" Perrie ventures finally, hesitantly. It would be impossible not to broach the subject, though, and Jade is glad that she did.

 

"Looks like it."

 

"How're you feeling about that?" she prompts again. The thing is, Jade’s never been one to volunteer an excess of information voluntarily. But the fact that Perrie cares enough to ask is an incentive to open up like nothing she’s ever known before.

 

"I don't know. Scared, I guess. Happy. None of those words seem adequate." She laughs, hollowly.

 

"It'll be okay," Perrie assures her softly.

 

"I believe you," Jade smiles. She stands up, hesitantly reaching out a hand to assist Perrie. The touch of their skin is electric; it feels like tiny fireworks are exploding beneath Jade's skin. She quickly pulls away, leading the way back to Perrie's...home? To her sleeping bag, at least.

 

"So, when are you leaving?" Perrie asks.

 

"Tomorrow. No point in putting it off, is there? It's been two years," Jade answers, forcing the bitterness away from her voice. There's no use in harboring resentment.

 

"It'll be okay," Perrie repeats. Jade nods.

 

She leaves soon after, to go pack a few clothes and a book or two. She can't imagine having a lot to talk about with her father. The version of him as an unapproachable, silent figure is engraved in her mind. What will they talk about? The weather? She cringes at the thought.

 

Then, quite suddenly, while she's unloading clothes from the washing machine, she's struck by an impulsive idea. Grabbing her wallet, she sprints back downstairs and over the Perrie's street, stopping round the corner because she doesn't want to appear out of breath.

 

By the time she reaches Perrie, there's a small crowd surrounding the singer. There's a family of six: Parents carrying bags of shopping, teenage girl enraptured and practically drooling at the sight (Jade feels a stab of jealousy at that), a boy who's scuffing his bright green trainers on the pavement and two young girls, both with light blonde hair. Additionally, there's an older girl with cropped hair and a septum piercing, and a curly-haired boy in his late teens.

 

"Can we pretend that airplanes..."

 

It's Jade's song. Well, maybe it's conceited to think that she has ownership of it, when Perrie's the one singing. But she suggested it, and it's a rush to hear her crush singing it all the same.

 

Jade knows what she's about to do is incredibly risky, but she knows that she already trusts this girl with everything she has—however foolish that may be. She reckons it's okay to trust her own discretion every once in a while. If it’s a mistake, she’ll learn to live with it.

 

After a couple more songs (All You Need Is Love and Love Story) the gathering disperses, and Jade—who was hanging on the wings—makes her way over to her preferred spot from this morning. Silently, she retrieves her wallet from the pocket of her dungarees. There's not much in there: a crumpled picture of her mother, a couple of notes and a tattered library card. And a key.

 

"I wanted to give you this," she begins, passing Perrie a ten pound note. "It's not very much, but I reckon it's the equivalent of what I would've given you this week anyway."

 

Perrie looks, for a split second, like she's going to argue, but appears to think better of it.

 

"Thank you," she replies sincerely, taking the money.

 

"And...I'd like it if I could give you this, too," Jade says, pulling out the key. "I- uh, there's a plant in the kitchen that needs watering, and someone needs to eat the food in the cupboards before it goes off..."

 

"Jade, I appreciate what you're trying to do—"

 

"Please," Jade says. "I just... I can't sit by and know that while I have a bed to sleep in, you don't. And, you're the first friend I've ever had. If I can't offer you my food, who can I offer?" She laughs awkwardly, key still balanced on her upturned palm.

 

"...Alright," Perrie agrees. "I've never wanted my pride to get in the way of opportunities."

 

"Thank you."

 

"Shouldn't I be the one thanking you?" Perrie laughs. Jade hopes that she hasn’t damaged the girl’s pride too much, but there’s no other way to proceed, she thinks.

 

"Not for that. For...talking to me. Being nice."

 

"Oh. That's alright. You're really cute, you know that? Don't have to thank me for talking to you!"

 

 _She doesn't mean it like that_ , Jade's brain chants desperately, but the damage is done. A seed of hope, having taken root, can become anything. It can die within weeks, or it can grow until it consumes all the nagging doubts and inhibitions.

 

She knows she's blushing—can't help it—and she looks away, embarrassed.

 

"Do you want to see the flat? It's not much, but...y'know, it's better than nothing." God, this is awful.

 

"I imagine it is," Perrie replies serenely. "I'd love to."

 

They go upstairs, and Perrie asks if she can take a shower immediately, because that's been her most pressing concern for weeks. Jade stifles the part of herself that jumps up and down in excitement (Perrie—naked—in her apartment) and consents, clattering around in the kitchen to avoid having to listen to the splashes of water.

 

***

 

She gets back a week later; her dad drives her up to the apartment block, and she hugs him before clambering out of the car, opening the boot and grabbing her suitcase.

 

“Thanks, Dad!” she calls, starting to walk up Perrie’s path. Not seeing Perrie there makes her happier than she’ll readily admit.

 

She’s running before she makes the conscious decision to, hurtling up to her apartment with her suitcase bouncing along behind her. She remembers her dad’s advice, when she told him about Perrie (not everything, just the things that she knew Perrie wouldn’t mind her sharing) and it fills her with a confidence she hasn’t felt in years.

 

“You can try to bury your feelings,” her father had said, “but there they’ll stay. The only way to turn feelings into something better is to let them out.”

 

So, she unlocks the door to her flat, and her hands don’t shake.

 

Perrie’s there, curled up on the sofa and wearing Jade’s clothes. A too-large Batman t-shirt and bright yellow skinny jeans, with Jade’s favourite fluffy white socks. She’s got her nose buried in a book: An autobiography of some celebrity or another. Jade doesn’t remember buying it (has never immersed herself in celebrity culture in the same way that others seem to insist upon doing) but it could be an old birthday present from an absent aunt, or uncle.

 

Perrie must have heard her entry—should have heard the keys in the door and the clicking of the lock—but she doesn’t look up, opting instead to flip the page before carefully folding down the corner of the page and closing it before looking up to meet Jade’s eyes.

 

“I noticed that you do that,” she says, apparently in reference to her treatment of the book. “I didn’t think you’d mind.”

 

“It’s fine,” Jade quickly confirms. “Did you have fun? There’s not much to do around her, but—”

 

“You only have children’s books.”

 

“What?”

 

“You don’t own any books for adults,” Perrie reiterates.

 

“Was that a problem?”

 

“No, not at all. Just an observation. Why don’t you buy adult’s books?”

 

“I’m not sure. I guess…they never have happy endings. I’m adamant that, within life, there should always be happy endings. There should always be hope. And for that reason, I will only read things with a promise of hope. They just tend to be children’s books,” Jade explains self-consciously. It’s not that she’s incapable of reading more advanced material; she just doesn’t want to.

 

“What’s your last name?” Perrie asks.

 

“Thirlwall.”

 

“See, this whole time I’ve been staying here, and I didn’t even know your last name. Why do you trust me so much?”

 

“Because even when you’re not smiling, you’re _smiling_. I’ve seen enough fakers in my life to know when someone’s genuine, and you are. Besides, I hate this place. It’s so lonely, most of the time. Having you here’s a hell of a lot better than returning to a barren, one-room apartment each night.”

 

“You have three rooms.”

 

“You know what I mean.”

 

“I do. Should I get going, then?”

 

“Didn’t you hear what I just said?” Jade sighs, steeling herself. “I like having you here. I like _you._ So stay. Please.”

 

Perrie does.

 

It’s not simple, not at all. There’s one sofa bed and not a whole lot of floor, but Jade insists that Perrie takes the bed. Perrie insists that they share, and Jade doesn’t think too hard about why she’s agreeing.

 

Jade fishes two pairs of pyjamas out of a drawer, and she pulls the sofa bed out nervously. When they climb in, she tries to scoot as far away from Perrie as she can in the confined space, willing herself to calm her breathing and fall asleep.

 

They wake up the next morning and sleepily smile at each other, and Jade leans in to kiss the other girl before she can help herself. Later, she’ll blame her sleep addled brain. Now, though, she’s blaming Perrie’s beautiful eyes, and she’ll deal with morning breath later—she’ll deal with everything later.

 

Later, they’re making pancakes, and both of their mouths taste like syrup, and Perrie catches Jade’s hand in hers, eyes as wide, and smile as beautiful as when Jade first saw her, and she says:

 

“Of course I’ll stay.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this on holiday in portugal and and it sort of ran away with me xD  
> please leave feedback!


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